Artificial Sweetener
by Sparkling Amethyst
Summary: Bella Swan uses whatever spare change she has left to buy coffee and books. Her job at the Jazz Bar shows her daily that not everyone in Seattle is living paycheck-to-paycheck. Enter Edward Mason, who's eyes fall on Bella and never look away. Edward exposes Bella to new experiences, not expecting her to do the same for him. Wealth is a higher obstacle than anyone wants to admit.
1. Chapter One

**Artificial Sweetener**

**Chapter One**

"I need a new ketchup bottle. Like, stat, Mike, I'm not pissing around."

"Yeah, well, you're pissing _me _off, so—"

"Mike, just hand me the goddamn bottle." Jessica Stanley leans over the counter top of the window that connects the Jazz Bar's dining room with the kitchen, feet dangling in the air.

Bella Swan shifts her weight to avoid getting kicked in the ankle. She stretches her arm over Jessica's back to sneak a new order into the almost-full basket of receipts, food waiting to be made. She peers inside and spies Eric assembling a pair of identical chicken sandwiches, the usual order for the very elderly and very sweet Mr. and Mrs. Linten, so she hovers a few steps away. The eighty-something-year-old married couple come in every Thursday, ask for Bella, and tip generously, so she does them the best service she can, including getting their burgers to the table while they're hot off the grill.

"Mike, hurry _up_." Jessica's tennis shoes smack against the fake hardwood floor as she straightens.

Bella watches Mike wipe his forehead on the sleeve of his grease-stained T-shirt, barely turning away from the burgers that he's flipping on the grill as he answers. "What's the problem with your arms and legs that you can't push open a door and come get it yourself?"

"C'mon, it's for Table 20."

Bella's eyes flicker to the back corner of the room, to the most private table that the restaurant has to offer, suddenly aware of why Jessica is in such a rush.

Table 10 is reserved for LOC customers only. It's an acronym that's only used by Jasper Whitlock, the owner of the Jazz Bar, but the entire staff knows it means Lots of Cash. LOC customers are Seattle's biggest businessmen who always have checks higher than $500 and always tip 40%—a dive-bar owner's dream.

Jasper assigns dining room sections to waitresses based on seniority, so Bella has never waited on anyone at Table 20; Jessica started working at the Jazz Bar two years before Bella and, as of six months ago when Irina walked out in the middle of a shift, is the most-experienced waitress. She's the only one who waits on Table 20 anymore.

Eric hits the bell on the counter and slides the plated chicken sandwiches towards Bella. "Tell 'em I said hi," he says. "And I gave them extra pickles."

Mr. and Mrs. Linten are waiting patiently when Bella walks up to their table, the huge black tray balanced on her left shoulder. Mrs. Lint claps her hands when Bella places her sandwich in front of her, and Bella feels a rush of gratitude for the no-stress regulars that often populate her small section near the front door. She may not be getting 40% tips, but she usually gets pretty nice customers.

Bella steps back, scanning the other five tables that she's responsible for. The bald man at Table 6 needs a refill on his Diet Coke, and a little girl with pigtails at Table 8 needs a new fork because she dropped it on the floor for the third time. The young couple at Table 3, with a toddler in a high-chair signals for the check, and Bella quickly drops it off, hoping they'll leave before their child starts wailing again like she did when they first sat down.

She's sliding a credit card into the register behind the bar when Jasper walks by. "You're forgetting something, Bella," he says as he passes.

Bella looks up to catch a few seconds of his glare before he enters the kitchen. Suddenly, she remembers that Angela has called off sick today, leaving the Hostess station empty, and apparently it's Bella's responsibility to do two people's jobs at once.

No one is waiting at the entrance, though, so Bella instinctively looks to Table 20. The three businessmen—maybe lawyers or accountants or CEOs—are sliding out of the booth and putting their coats on, and someone needs to see them out.

Bella drops the check off at Table 3 on her way to the hostess stand and offers a friendly smile to fancy suits and clicking dress shoes as they pass. "Have a good evening," she tells them.

The skinny blond-haired man gives her a nod as he pushes the door open, but none of them say anything in return.

Eventually, Bella's section clears out, and she starts wiping down her tabletops. The giant clock on the wall, next to the flat screen that hangs above the eight-seat bar to the left of the main entrance, inches towards 8 p.m., and if her section is empty and prepped for the next day, Jasper will let Bella leave early.

The silver bell above the door jingles as someone comes inside, and Bella tries not to let her shoulders drop; she sat the group that came in twenty minutes ago in Jessica's section, so this group is Bella's.

She sits the Mr. Clean bottle down on Table 4 and turns around, but to her surprise, Jasper is already counting out menus for the new customers.

"It's so great to have you here," he's saying. "Welcome, welcome. We have a special table reserved for you in the back, if that's alright?"

Another group of three is standing in a semicircle at the hostess station, but this time it's two men and one woman. The woman, dark-skinned with straight, black hair and a maroon-colored evening dress, is holding hands with the man in a gray suit to her right, whose skin-tone matches her own. The other man wears a black suit, and Bella isn't sure if it's because he's standing next to two nicely-tanned Native Americans or if he's really just a pale ginger, but he looks like he hasn't seen the sun in years. And in Seattle, Bella thinks, that's entirely possible.

Jasper leads the group to Table 20, and Bella retreats to the bar with her cleaning bottle. The bartender, Tyler, always forgets to wipe down the smaller half of the L-shaped counter top, and she doesn't want to start her Friday off with one of Jasper's lectures on cleanliness tomorrow morning.

Above her, the news is on the TV, and she slowly draws circles on the counter top with her rag as she listens to the weather report. She reaches for a mug from the drying rack next to the wine glasses and pours herself a luke-warm cup of coffee, adding one of the Mini Moo half-and-half creamers. She examines her sweetener options: white packets, blue packets, pink packets, and yellow packets. She opts for the last one.. The blue and green lights reflect off of the brown and clear beer bottles that hang from the ceiling for decoration, and Bella finds herself zoning.

"Excuse me," a voice says behind her.

The redheaded man from Table 20 is resting his hand on the brown leather cushion that lines the bar, a blackish-silver credit card between his index and middle finger. He opens his mouth to speak again, but then his eyebrows pull together, like he's changed his mind. "You know that isn't good for you," he says after a pause.

Bella grips the side of the bar with one hand, feeling his gaze pin her in place. She glances down at the mug in her other hand. "The—uh, the coffee?"

His lips tug up at the corners. "No. The Splenda." He uses his chin to gesture to the yellow packets still sitting on the bar, torn in half and empty. "Artificial sweetener is supposed to be worse for you than sugar."

"Well, it's been, like, twenty-two years. Give or take a few diapers." Bella swallows. "And it hasn't killed me yet."

The man leans closer until his torso is pressed as flat against the bar as it can be. "I didn't know what I wanted to drink when the waitress asked," he says. "But I do now. Can I order here?"

He's standing as close to Bella as the bar's counter top between them would allow, and this does not go unnoticed to her. He stares directly into her eyes, unmoving, lips parted.

Bella puts her coffee mug down and stands up straighter, smoothing down the front of her apron. She realizes she was biting her lip only when she opens her mouth to speak and suddenly hopes she hasn't created an indent from her teeth. "I—of course. What can I get you?" she says.

"Scotch, please," he says, "on the rocks."

Bella finds herself staring at him for a moment too long. She hopes he didn't notice the way she was desperately trying to find any flaw on his face—a scratch, a blemish, a birthmark, a patch of uneven skin tone. She finds only a single freckle underneath his right eye, in the middle of his cheek, and tries not to think about how attractive he is.

Bella prepares his drink, keeping her eyes on the glass in front of her. When she finally looks up at him again, he's still watching her, eyes drooping. He dips his chin as she walks closer and smiles, running a hand through his messy-but-on-purpose hair.

Bella moves to sit the glass on the bar top, but his hand reaches out before she can do so. Her heart beats unevenly for a second when his thumb brushes over her empty ring finger, and she wonders briefly if he's touching her on purpose when he repeats the motion as she takes his credit card.

She sneaks a glance at his name while the receipt prints: Edward L. Mason.

"Thank you," he says after Bella hands him his receipt. He glances down at her chest, and Bella is momentarily offended until he adds, "Bella," squinting at the name tag pinned to the neckline of her dark gray shirt.

Bella tries and fails at not making it obvious that she's watching him to back to his seat, but she's not embarrassed that he catches her looking, especially when he turns around three times on his way to look at her, too.

"You tending bar now?" Tyler teases, appearing at the sink to wash his hands.

"Sorry," she says. "He asked, and—you know. Table 20, and all that."

Tyler nods. "Thanks. You probably saved us all from a Jasper Lecture." He tilts his head to gesture to where Jasper is standing, peeking out at the LOC customers from the ordering window. He's watching Jessica's every move as she approaches the table and asks if they're ready to order.

Bella checks that her section is properly cleaned and ready to go, forcing herself several times to hold back a glance towards Table 20. She wonders if, just maybe, Edward Mason will be watching her if she caves and checks over her shoulder, but part of her doesn't want to know. She'll only be disappointed if he isn't, she reasons.

Remembering his topaz eyes and the intensity with which he met her gaze, though, sends a shiver up her spine.

Bella is in the kitchen when Jessica bursts through the swinging doors.

"Bella, Bella, Bella, please," Jessica says, tugging her apron over her head and tossing it onto a counter that's covered with flour. "Before you leave—can you please, please, please be on stand-by for Table 20 while I go to the bathroom?"

"I really think they can wait long enough for you to pee," Bella says. "If they need something." In truth, the thought of having to walk up to Edward Mason thrills her so much that she's sure she'll trip on her way over.

Jessica glances towards Mike, who's concentrating on cooking whatever Edward and the other two have ordered, but she uses her hand to block her mouth so that only Bella can read her lips. "I have to _poop_," she mouths silently. She raises her voice to a normal volume when she adds, "Jasper's still out there, and you know how he is when there are LOCs at Table 20! I _really _don't want to start the day tomorrow—"

"With a Jasper Lecture," Bella says, nodding. "I got it, yes, okay, I'll hover around until you're back."

"_Thank _you," Jessica says, already halfway towards the employee restroom.

Bella walks over to lean against the ordering window, peeking out at the dining room. Jessica still has customers at three tables, including Table 20, but the other two groups are already eating. Only Table 20 still waits for food.

Bella sneaks a glance at Edward Mason, and goosebumps raise over her skin. He's looking her way, and Bella meets his gaze as soon as she pokes her head out far enough to see him. She startles and tries to retreat back into the kitchen like a turtle in its shell, but it's too late.

Edward raises his hand and waves, the universal waitress-I-need-something signal.

Bella makes eye contact with Jasper, who's counting twenties at the cash register. He gives her The Jasper Look, and she swallows all of the saliva in her mouth.

Left with no other choice, she exits the kitchen, notepad in hand and attention on her careful footsteps.

Edward watches her every move as she approaches, returning her grin when she stops in front of their table. "I'll take another scotch, please," he says.

Bella looks away from him before his gaze makes her blush. The other two guests aren't paying her any attention, their eyes on a thick stack of papers on the table in front of them. Bella bites her lip. "Can I get you two anything?"

The woman lifts her head but stares right at Edward, as if Bella hasn't spoken at all. "I thought we agreed that we're selling _as is_."

Edward cuts his eyes away from Bella to glare at the woman. "We haven't agreed to _anything _yet, Emily. That's why we're here, isn't it?"

The man next to Emily leans back and crosses his arms. "I don't think this deal is going to work out, Edward."

Edward smiles, but it's sarcastic compared to the grins he's given Bella. "I'd wait until you see the price I'm offering before you make that decision."

Emily flips to the last page of the document and bends her head as she reads.

Bella shifts her weight, uncomfortable to be listening to a business negotiation that has nothing to do with her but unsure whether or not she should walk away with only one customer's drink order. "Um—so it that just one scotch, then?"

Edward's expression lightens when he meets Bella's eyes again. "Thank you."

Bella manages to not spill alcohol all over the floor when she brings it to him, a difficult thing for her to do when an attractive LOC is watching her every step.

Eventually, Jessica returns, and Bella makes it all the way to the computer in the back, ready to clock out, when Jessica bursts into the kitchen again.

"_Someone _made an impression," she says, walking towards Bella with a white piece of paper in her hand.

Bella slides her time-card back into the clear folder that's stapled to the wall behind the computer. "What?"

"That hottie at Table 20," Jessica says. "The redhead?"

Bella blinks, forcing her shoulders to stay slumped, like she's not intrigued at all.

"The one who was, like, literally leaning around me so that he could stare at you?"

Bella feels the pink start to creep up her neck and down her back and turns away, gathering her purse straps in her hand. "Oh," she says. "Yeah, I made him a drink."

Jessica grabs Bella's hand and presses a small rectangle into her palm. "Oh, I know," she says, wagging her eyebrows suggestively. "I asked for their drink orders, and he told me he prefers to order alcohol _at the bar_." She makes air quotes and winks, reaching out to tap Bella's arm like she's just won a prize. "I mean, who does that? And then I turn around, and you're there, and he's staring right at you, so I walk away, and he goes right up to you and starts talking, and—"

"He came over to the bar on purpose?"

Jessica grins, and her eyebrows wag one more time. "He looked right through me. If I hadn't just sworn off men last week, I'd be offended, because _damn_." She pretends to fan herself dramatically.

Bella looks down at the paper in her hand—a business card.

**Edward Mason**

**Founder and CEO**

**Mason Entertainment Networking**

She flips the card over and finds a phone number, but one that's different than the number listed under his name on the front. It's handwritten and personalized:

_Bella — Let's do lunch. E.M._


	2. Chapter Two

**I meant for this chapter to be finished and posted by Saturday, but **_damn_**. Have you ever had your wisdom teeth out? That surgery is a **_bitch_**. I was out for the count all weekend—and, I might add, that I was in so much pain that I couldn't even **_read_**. Which is devastating and extremely out of character for me. Anyways, I'm back, swollen face and all, with more Edward and Bella for you. **

**I had a recent question regarding the book that I mentioned at the beginning of chapter one, my recently published chapbook. I'm not entirely sure if I'm going to let my fanfiction writing and my "original" writing join together quite yet (but, for the record, in the debate on whether or not fanfiction is considered "professional" and "original" writing, or whether its own genre for that matter, I stand on the side that fanfiction is in fact a genre and is in fact original). If I ever decide to release my name (and my book title), you guys will be the first to know. Thank you for your interest!**

* * *

**Artificial Sweetener**

**Chapter Two**

"What the fuck do you mean, you _didn't _call him?" Alice Cullen leans forward until her stomach is pressed against the pale yellow table. She bumps it too hard, and a little bit of coffee from each of their mugs spills over the edges.

Coffee Bean Cafe has been Bella and Alice's favorite morning spot for years, since their undergraduate days at Washington University. A quiet, brightly-lit diner with homemade pastries and always-fresh coffee, this diner is the perfect place for Bella to prepare for a stressful workday at The Jazz Bar.

Bella uses her fork to cut a bite off of her raspberry pastry and stares at the little drips of coffee that have bled onto the empty, torn-in-half Splenda packets on the table. She remembers Edward staring at the packets on the bar the night before. "Alice, it was eight-thirty by the time I got home last night." She sneaks a hand over to the container with the sweetener and stuffs a few Splenda packets in her purse.

"Your point being?" Alice says. "What if he wanted a booty call?"

Bella raises her chin so that her eyes are equal with Alice's. "Then I guess he should be more selective about who gets the 'special' business card." She stares at her best friend, unmoving, until Alice gives in.

Alice bites her lip. "Alright. Fine, you're right. Booty call is a no."

"It's a _hell _no."

Bella can count on one hand the number of men that she's slept with in her lifetime; actually, she wouldn't even need her thumb or her index finger. Apart from her high-school boyfriend and two college guys (one frat boy and one science nerd, both of whom never returned her phone calls after their dorm doors closed behind her), Bella has never had a truly meaningful sexual encounter. And she's not about to start with a one-night stand.

Bella's phone vibrates, and an unnecessary thrill shoots through her stomach; Edward Mason doesn't have her phone number, but the idea that, soon, he might be calling her, makes the back of her neck sweat. She glances at the screen, but it's just a Twitter update from Penguin Random House. Bella opens the app immediately and sees a list of today's new-release hardback books. She peeks up at Alice. "So . . . bookstore?"

Alice laughs. "I knew that was coming. Don't you have to be at work in, like, half an hour?" She pretends to check an imaginary watch on her wrist, where there's a diamond bracelet instead.

Bella takes a sip of her coffee and feels her fingers get sticky from the spillage. "_Please _don't remind me that you sleep with my boss."

Alice narrows her eyes, but she's still smiling. "Why do you insist on downplaying the seriousness of my relationship?"

"Because your boyfriend signs my checks," Bella teases. "And the money that he used to buy you that diamond bracelet, and that Chanel purse, and those Ray Bans quite possibly came from customers that I waited on."

"At least you have job security." Alice tries to press her lips together to fight a smile, feigning seriousness, but it doesn't work.

Bella smiles back to let Alice know that she got the joke, but she finds herself forcing her expression to stay light. She wishes Alice wouldn't say things like that; those comments only add to Bella's suspicion that Jasper only hired Bella because Alice asked him to. Bella tries not to think about the fact that, before Irina quit, she and Jessica always rotated taking care of Table 20. Jasper has never made even the slightest hint that Bella and Jessica will ever begin a similar rotation. She thinks about her banishment to hostess duty when Angela isn't there and wills herself not to think of it as a demotion, but really, she senses that Jasper doesn't trust her with important jobs. Maybe because he didn't want to hire her in the first place.

Their usual Coffee-Bean-Cafe waitress, a blonde with an I'm-exhausted-and-it's-not-even-noon-yet expression on her face that Bella is too familiar with, appears to offer them refills.

Bella widens her eyes as innocently as she can and clasps her hands together in a silent beg. When she sees consideration on Alice's face, she adds a lip-pout to the mix, and Alice rolls her eyes.

"I think we're ready for the check," Alice tells the waitress.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you!" Bella reaches across the table to pat Alice on the shoulder.

"Don't you have to be clocked in at work by noon?"

"Eleven-thirty, actually." The corners of Bella's lips start to pinch from smiling so wide. "Lunchtime-rush prep, and all that."

Alice checks the time on her phone. "You don't have much time."

"That's the idea," Bella says. "I can't go to bookstores when I have an empty afternoon. Duh. It keeps me in control." Bella thinks about the bookshelves in her tiny Seattle apartment, shelves buckling in at the center from the weight of books on books on books, stacked horizontally on top of one another now that there's no more vertical room.

"You're buying one book," Alice warns. Bella knows she's teasing; Alice never tells Bella how to spend her money, mostly because Alice has a lot of it.

"Yeah, we'll see." Bella knows Alice is teasing; Alice never tells Bella how to spend her money, mostly because Alice has a lot of it.

The waitress drops the check on the end of the table as she passes, and Alice's hand reaches for it immediately, credit card in hand.

"How much do I owe you?" Bella asks.

"Nothing," Alice says. "My treat."

"But—"

"Jasper is going to be at the restaurant all day today," Alice says. "Lord knows how you put up with him."

Suddenly, Bella feels a pang of guilt run through her stomach, remembering how she'd so ignorantly pointed out Alice's expensive wardrobe just minutes before.

For a second, she wonders if Alice was offended.

Then, she wonders if Alice even noticed—

—if she's ever actually noticed the financial differences between them.

"You can repay me," Alice says, returning her credit card to her wallet, "by calling Edward Mason. And then telling me _everything_ he says."

Bella keeps Alice distracted enough with questions about herself (her ongoing job search, which is practically non-existent; her new golden retriever puppy named Nugget; her upcoming dinner with Jasper's parents) that Alice forgets about the little business card that's tucked away in Bella's purse.

Bella's apartment, Coffee Bean Cafe, Second-Home Bookstore, and The Jazz Bar are all within walking distance of one-another, so Alice parks her car in one of Jasper's private parking spots by the restaurant so she doesn't have to pay meter parking. The chilly November Seattle air is, of course, the only downfall to walking everywhere, but at least it's not snowing today.

When they finally reach The Jazz Bar's front entrance, Bella tries to get away from Alice without looking suspiciously like she's trying to escape, all the while keeping her fingers crossed that Alice won't remember Edward Mason's message on her own. She walks straight back into the kitchen and clocks in, while Alice takes a seat at the bar, where Jasper is counting out change for the register.

Mike glances at Bella over his shoulder, a spray bottle in hand as he wipes the metal counter in the middle of the room. "Brace yourself," he tells her.

Bella swipes her ID card. "For what?"

"Angela is off sick again," Jessica says, emerging from the storage room to Bella's left. She sits a cardboard box full of fresh ketchup bottles on the counter, and Mike starts counting them out for each table.

"Jesus _Christ_," Bella says. "What's wrong with her?"

Jessica dips her chin and gives Bella her signature Gossip Glance. "Rumor on Fourth Avenue is that she's pregnant."

Bella blinks. "Fourth Avenue?"

Jessica nods.

"You realize that this restaurant is on Fifth Avenue," Bella says.

Jessica stares for a second, and then narrows her eyes. "Okay, Nancy Drew, sorry, I was _trying _to be _clever_."

Mike laughs. "If you have to _try _to be clever, you're not clever."

Jessica shoots him a glare and turns back to Bella. "But anyways, the heads-up is because Jasper's definitely gonna put you on Hostess duty again."

Bella shakes her head, tying her apron behind her waist. "Maybe if I go see him before Alice leaves, she'll talk some sense into him."

Jessica's eyes widen. Her hand, reaching for the last ketchup bottle in the box, freezes halfway there, and she starts to pick at the skin around the edges of her thumb nail, twisting her middle finger awkwardly. "Alice is here?"

Bella tilts her head as she nods, but suddenly Jessica won't make eye contact with her. Instead, her friend turns and retreats to the storage room again.

Mike nods his head to a group of bottles that he's pushed closer to the table's edge. "You wanna start taking those out to the dining room for me?"

Bella turns to glance at the neon-green clock letters behind her: 11:46am. Lunch doors open in fifteen. She grabs two bottles in each hand and pushes the swinging door with her hip.

Across the room, Alice is leaning across the bar to give Jasper a goodbye kiss. "Seven o'clock," she tells him, pointing an index finger at his face. "Not a minute later. Macy's closes at eight."

"We seriously need an hour in _Macy's_?" he says, bracing his hands on the bar. "It's just _dinner_, Alice. Why can't I wear a shirt I already—"

Bella tries not to laugh when Alice reaches across to close her hand over Jasper's mouth. He hears her chuckle, even though she tries to muffle it with her arm, and glares at her until she turns away.

"_Yes_," Alice says, "we do, in fact, need an hour. This isn't just _dinner_, Jazz. It's dinner with my _parents_. They're already pissed that they're getting the consolation prize—"

"What consolation prize?" Jasper yells.

Bella turns around to see Alice wrinkling her nose. Her friend brushes her bangs out of her eyes and levels Jasper with a stare. "They can't have us for Thanksgiving dinner, so instead they get us for dinner the day _after _Thanksgiving."

"Alice—"

"I don't want to hear the bullshit about your family traditions again." Alice throws her purse over her shoulder and takes a few steps away. She looks back at him but keeps most of her body turned towards the door. "My family has traditions too, you know. But I'm breaking my traditions for _you_. Because I love you, and because I want to spend the holiday with you. You could be a little more grateful."

Bella pictures the time that she spent Thanksgiving with Alice's family, when Renee was off "making a good impression" on Phil's parents, back when Phil was still her husband-to-be, and Charlie was forced to take a shift in a patrol car because the officer who was scheduled suddenly got "sick" and the responsibility for covering his shift fell on the Chief of Police. Not wanting to walk on eggshells for a four-day trip to Florida while her mother tried to win over her future in-laws, Bella had opted to stay in good 'ole Forks, Washington with Alice's family.

Bella stands for a moment, remembering Carlisle and Esme Cullen, stiff and quiet as they sat at the biggest dining room table that Bella had ever seen, complete with sterling silver knives and forks and a three-tier carrot cake instead of pumpkin pie, and suddenly Bella wonders if there's something about wealth that takes away a person's ability to smile.

Bella reaches for the empty ketchup bottle on Table 20, and the business card in her back pocket practically vibrates. She stares at the seat that he occupied just the night before, the only booth left without any puncture of any kind in its seats or backrests, always kept in perfect condition.

Does Edward Mason smile?

Or does his wealth make him hollow—like Carlisle and Esme Cullen?

Like Alice is sure to be, someday?

Alice's heels click against the linoleum as she heads towards the front door. The jingle that comes from the pile of bracelets on her wrist echoes around the room when she gives Bella a wave. "Text me when you're home safe, Bells," she calls.

Bella grins and nods, but really she hates it when Alice says that; it's a small reminder that she has to walk home, alone and in the dark, on one of Seattle's busiest streets, to an apartment building with only a seventy-year-old bald security guard at its doorway.

"Doors open in ten," Jasper calls out when Alice is gone. Jessica emerges from the kitchen, and Jasper taps her shoulder as he walks by. "You're doing Section Two again, Jess. Bella? You're on hostess duty again."

For a brief moment, Jessica meets Bella's gaze and actually has the common sense to look guilty; Bella is, of course, getting screwed over again, but the knot in her stomach loosens a little when she sees that Jessica has clearly noticed that it's happening.

Jessica approaches with her hands full of ketchup bottles. "I'm sorry, Bella," she says. "I'll finish restocking this section. Go do what you need to do for yourself."

Bella wants to argue but she doesn't see the point.

Bella's socks are damp with sweat when she finally takes them off at her doorstep.

She rests her keys on the tiny counter that separates her kitchen from her living room and hangs her purse on the wooden stool nearest to the wall. She usually heads straight to her bedroom, always eager to change out of her sweaty, fried-food-smelling uniform and into her fleece pajamas and a hoodie, but tonight, she finds herself sitting down on her couch.

She pulls the business card out of her pocket and stares at it in the palm of her hand, admiring the handwritten digits that were provided special to her.

_Bella—Let's do lunch. E.M._

Edward Mason.

Bella wants to know him—what he does, the way he thinks, his opinions on life and living.

She dials the number.

* * *

**I know there was no Edward in this chapter, but he's coming back soon, I promise! What fun is it if the girl doesn't make him sweat it out a little bit, amiright? **

**As always, thank you for reading, and reviews are always appreciated. **

**See you in Chapter Three.**


	3. Chapter Three

**Hello, everyone! Thanks for coming back. **

**A few of you pointed out some differences in last-name use between the first two chapters. They have been noted and updated. Both were oversights. It's very easy to type Edward Cullen instead of Mason because Cullen, you could say, is more canon. As for Alice: I intended for her to be married to Jasper when I started writing the chapter, but I decided that the dynamic of their relationship would work better for me if they were just dating, and I overlooked the last name during my editing.**

**That's the problem with self-editing; it's dangerous. Because you're reading over your own words, you essentially know what the sentence is supposed to say, so your mind fills in the blanks or glosses over a mistake because you know, in your own head, what point you were trying to make, etc. It's a tricky business. **

**Bear with me; I'm sure every chapter will have mistakes, type-os, errors in grammar, etc. This is a relaxing writing exercise for me, so I'm not aiming for perfection. I'm aiming for entertaining.**

* * *

**Artificial Sweetener**

**Chapter Three**

In the twenty-some seconds after she lifts her cell phone to her ear, Bella realizes how absolutely _gray _her apartment is. Gray curtains, gray leather couch, ugly white-and-gray-speckled rug beneath a gray coffee table—Bella wonders if she's allergic to color, or just boring.

In her ear, the dial tone beeps once.

Twice.

Thrice.

"Good evening," a female voice answers. "Mr. Mason is currently unavailable. Can I take a message?"

Bella reals for a moment, unprepared. In truth, she didn't really know what to expect from the other end of the line, but a woman answering—and giving practically no greeting or introduction—wasn't high on the list of possible conversations. "Um," she stalls, gripping her cell phone tighter in a sweaty hand. "Is this—I'm sorry, I'm confused. Is this—"

The woman's deep exhale makes the line go fuzzy for a second. "Mr. Mason is on a conference call right now. He is unable to answer his phone. Please give me your name, and he will return your call."

Bella wills herself to just leave a message, but the words are out before she can stop them. "A conference call? At ten o'clock at night?"

"With _China_," the woman snaps. "It's one in the afternoon there. If you don't want to leave a message, you'll have to call back later. Or tomorrow."

"I—" Bella stares at the business card on her lap, squinting at the handwritten phone number again. She turns the card over to compare it to the number that's already printed on the front, below his name and company email address. She frowns; the handwritten number is definitely different than his office number—so why is she talking to a receptionist?

"Ma'am," the woman says, the professionalism quickly leaving her voice. "Are you going to—"

"I'll leave a message," Bella finally spits out. "I'm sorry. I just—wasn't sure what to expect with this."

The woman pauses, and when she speaks again, the customer service voice is back. "Is this Bella?"

Bella's stomach drops to her feet. "How did you know that?"

"Mr. Mason rarely shares this phone number, Miss," the woman says. A rustling sound starts up in the background, like she's just got up and started walking. "He said you might be calling. Please hold for one moment, please."

"What exactly is this number?"

"His personal cell phone, Miss."

Bella has run out of questions, so she just shuts her mouth and continues holding, as requested.

Muffled, like the woman is holding her hand over the phone's microphone, Bella hears her say, "Mr. Mason, excuse me. I have Bella on the phone."

"Wait," Bella half-yells into the phone. "Oh, my god. Don't interrupt his meeting with _China _for _me_." Her heart hasn't beat this fast since she passed a cop while driving 92mph on Interstate 84 a few years back, when she kept her eyes flicking up to her rearview mirror and prayed that he wouldn't turn his lights on and come after her.

"Please hold, Miss," is all the woman says in response.

"Oh, my god," Bella says. "I'll call back later. Tomorrow. Sometime. I don't know. Please, can you just write down my phone number?"

"Oh, I don't need to write it down," a deep male voice says. "I've got it saved as a new contact already. Hello, Bella."

Bella hopes he doesn't hear her swallow. "Hi—uh, Mr. Mason."

He laughs. "I'm Edward to you, Bella. I guess I didn't really introduce myself very well yesterday. I apologize for that. I was—well, I was a bit frustrated."

"With the people you were eating with?"

"Yes," he says. "They were making things more complicated than they need to be."

"How so?"

Edward pauses. "You're very curious, aren't you?"

"I'm sorry," Bella says automatically. Embarrassment prickles at her back, and she fidgets in her seat. She pulls one of her faded gray throw pillows off of the couch and onto her lap so that she can fiddle with the buttons, just for something to do with her hands.

"Don't be," Edward answers, his voice light and unoffended. "I liked it yesterday, and I like it today."

Bella can't think of anything to say for a moment, which of course leads her to speak unfiltered the moment something enters her mind. "I'm turning pink," she tells him, and then presses a palm to her forehead in disbelief that she's just admitted that.

"Good," Edward says, chuckling. "Please forgive me for sending my number to you on a business card with another waitress. It's not exactly professional to seek a woman out to ask her on a date during a business meeting."

"A date?" Bella squeaks.

"Would you like to have lunch with me on Friday?"

Bella's eyes flicker to the calendar hanging on the wall above the counter. She doesn't have to get up and look to know that The Jazz Bar has her chained to her section.

When Bella takes too long to answer, Edward continues, "I know it's a bit late of notice, and you might already have plans on Friday, with the holiday tomorrow and whatnot, but—"

"No, no, I don't really have _plans_," Bella says. "I have to work."

"Oh," Edward says, as if the thought hadn't occurred to him.

Bella looks down at his business card again: Edward Mason, Founder and CEO. He probably gets an unlimited amount of days off, especially the Friday after Thanksgiving.

"Well, just tell me what day works best for you, and I'll make it happen."

Something in the way he says it—so definitely, like a promise—makes Bella's stomach flutter. "I'm free on Sunday and Tuesday," she tells him.

"Sunday it is, then," Edward says immediately. "And maybe, if you have a good time—and I so hope that you do, because I already know that I will—you'll let me have Tuesday, as well."

Bella grins so wide that the corners of her lips start to hurt, and she taps her toes against the carpet to help alleviate her excitement before she speaks. "You better get back to China, Mr. Mason," Bella says, a sudden confidence flowing into her stomach. Then, biting her lip, she adds, "I'll see you Sunday, Edward."

When Bella wakes the next morning, her mother has already left two voicemails. From Charlie, there's only one text message, which makes Bella grin. Instead of listening to the voicemails, she holds the phone to ear and waits to hear what Renee has to say.

"Happy Thanksgiving, honey!" her mother says in her ear. "Are you just getting up?"

Bella glances at the clock: 8:46am. "Some of us don't have to meet our baseball-player husbands at the airport at four in the morning, Mom. I like sleep, and sleep likes me."

Renee laughs. "Oh, honey, I wish you could have flown down to see us this year. The Sunshine State is beautiful in November, you know."

It's Renee's favorite line, her most frequent attempt to lure Bella into a visit. In situations like these, Bella often finds herself grateful (albeit momentary gratefulness, of course, always going away as quickly as it comes on) for her job at The Jazz Bar; Jasper's relentless scheduling leaves Bella no room for plane rides and weekend vacations to Jacksonville, which ensures that she doesn't have to pretend to fit into Renee's life anymore. She doesn't need to worry about what names to call Phil's parents or where she'll sit at the dinner table. It's better this way, Bella thinks. She doesn't have to pretend that she's a part of Phil's family, and they don't have to pretend that she is, either.

"I have to get in the shower," Bella says. "I'm driving to Forks today, remember?"

"Oh, honey, please be careful," Renee answers. "Text me when you get there. I wish you would stay there overnight."

"I can't, Mom."

"That damn job of yours—"

"Pays my bills."

"Seattle has to be _full _of job opportunities—"

"Not for people without college degrees."

"But you _almost _have a college degree!"

Bella's eyes drift to the bookshelf in the corner of her room, shoved full of paperbacks that she reads and rereads, knick knacks that she collects, and textbooks that she'll never touch again. The bottom shelf, the abandoned one, looks pitiful as it collects dust.

Back in September, Bella was forced to take a semester off from the University of Washington, postponing the first semester of her senior year. Her federal aid wasn't enough to cover her tuition, and Bella didn't have anywhere near the amount that she needed to cover the rest of her tuition balance. By the time she finally sucked up her pride and asked Renee and Phil for the money, it was too late for her to register for the Fall semester. Now, at just 28 credits away from a degree in Bella waits anxiously for January to arrive, both eager to continue earning her Psychology degree and irritated at having to call Phil and ask him to mail the school a check. She still cringes when she thinks about the smugness in Phil's voice when she'd called months earlier to tell Renee about her financial dilemma.

"Almost doesn't cut it, Mom," Bella says finally.

"But Bella—"

"I'm twenty-one years old, Mom. I have to start somewhere. I have to pay my dues." Bella tosses the covers away and wanders the ten steps from her bed into her bathroom so she can get the shower water running warm. She squeezes the phone between her ear and her shoulder. "At least the Jazz Bar offers me an insurance plan."

"You're working yourself to death."

"No, Mom. I'm working myself to life. Happy Thanksgiving."

Charlie Swan isn't much for conversation, and Bella doesn't mind.

Sitting across from her father the crooked yellow table in her childhood home, Bella doesn't have to worry that he'll ask if she's been getting her money's worth out of her college tuition by attending tutoring sessions and stealing apples from the dining hall. She knows he won't wonder about what she's been learning, who she's been dating, or if she's been eating enough vegetables. Here, in Forks, Bella can relax.

Charlie twists his spoon around the top edge of his bowl, a shoveling a mixture of mashed potatoes and corn into his mouth. "How's work?" he asks through his mouthful.

Bella nods. "It's good."

Charlie nods, too, not needing her to say anything else. He gestures to the meal that's spread out on the table between them, a takeout-Thanksgiving from the Bob Evans just outside of town. "Thanks for, uh, picking this up, Bells. I transferred the money back into your account."

Bella takes her time cutting a piece of turkey with her fork. "You didn't need to do that, Dad."

"I appreciate it," he says. "You driving all the way up here for this, I mean. Traffic was probably a bitch."

Bella thinks about the four-hour drive from Seattle to Forks, turned into a five-hour commute with the holiday traffic. Her knees ache at the idea of spending another five hours driving home in a little bit. "Thanksgiving is for family," she says.

"How's Alice?"

"She's with Jasper's family today," Bella says, even though that's not really what Charlie asked. Lately, talking about Alice just makes Bella feel bad about herself.

"Things getting serious there?"

Bella fights back a smile; he doesn't really care, she knows, but he doesn't know what else to say. "Yeah, I think so."

"Well, good," Charlie says. "Good for her."

"Yeah."

They fall silent again, a comfortable quietness, both satisfied with the amount of words they've exchanged thus far. They finish their meals, and Charlie clears the table while Bella goes out to the fridge in the garage to get the pumpkin pie, made fresh the day before by their family friend, Sue Clearwater. A piece of paper is taped to the top, and Bella almost doesn't read it but her curiosity gets the best of her. It's a sweet little love note from Sue to Charlie, and Bella wonders if he left it on there on purpose so that Bella would see it, or if he just forgot to take it off.

Bella has suspected that Sue and Charlie have been more than friends for a few months now. It's been about a year since Sue's husband died of a heart attack, and Bella knows that Sue and Charlie are both lonely. As she walks back inside, she suddenly feels guilty, like maybe she's been holding Charlie back from spending the holidays with Sue and her children.

She tries to think of the words to ask him as they stand side-by-side at the sink, Charlie washing the mismatched bowls and plates while Bella dries them. Finally, she just says it. "So. You and Sue Clearwater, huh?"

The look on Charlie's face tells her that he did, in fact, just forget to take the note off. "Oh, well—yeah, I guess so."

"Where is she today?"

"She's at home," he says. "With Seth and Leah."

"Dad, you could have—"

"No, no." He hands her a sudzy fork. "We talked about it. We like things the way they are."

Bella hears it in his voice, now: the protective tone, the anti-Phil tone. Bella has never spoken of her dislike towards Phil, but she never really needed to; Charlie doesn't ask many questions, but he definitely knows his daughter well enough to see that she and her stepfather will never mesh well. Phil doesn't change his lifestyle for others; others have to change for him. It's a change Renee was willing to make—moving to Florida, selling her Ford for a Mercedes, squeezing fresh grapefruit juice for breakfast every morning—but Bella won't consider anything of the sort, and Charlie hates Phil's arrogance just as much as Bella does.

"You know, Bells," he starts, bracing his hands on the sink in front of him. "I don't have as much money as Dwyer, but I can help you out with school."

Bella leans a hip against the counter and crosses her arms. "Dad, I can't ask that of you." She lets her eyes draw around the room, taking in the chipped paint on the walls and the refrigerator that's been there since Bella was born; Charlie needs every cent he earns.

"At least let me buy your books," Charlie says. "For the spring. Let me help you out."

"Dad—"

"You know he's not going to include textbook money," Charlie says. "With the tuition. Not automatically, anyways. He'll make you ask him for it."

Bella nods. "I know."

"He knows you hate asking him for help."

"I know."

"So don't give him the satisfaction," Charlie says. "Let me help. He'll be expecting another call from you once he sends the tuition check, and he won't get it."

"Dad," Bella says. "Are you sure?"

"More than sure," Charlie says, dunking his hands back into the soapy water in his half of the sink. "I'll have the money for you at Christmas. And _no_, it won't be part of your present."

When they sit back down for their pie, Bella pours them each a cup of coffee. "Do you have Splenda?" she asks.

"Nah," Charlie says. "Sorry, kid."

Bella pictures Edward's face from Tuesday, remembering the way he looked at her so intently from under his eyelashes, the disapproving stare towards the Splenda that she'd already put in her cup. Without thinking, she reaches out to tap the screen on her phone, hoping that he's sent her a text or left her a voicemail. As she spoons some sugar into her mug, she wants to tell him, wants to invoke some sort of inside joke between the two of them. She wonders if he would find it awkward if she texted him first. She decides against it, flipping her phone over so that the screen faces the table. "Hey, Dad," she says, "why don't you ask the Clearwaters to come over for Christmas Day?"

"You mean it?"

"Absolutely."

The day after a holiday is always slow at The Jazz Bar, especially the Friday after Thanksgiving. People are too exhausted from getting up at unreasonable hours to score deals on Christmas presents to go to a restaurant at dinnertime. Even Mr. and Mrs. Linten didn't show up for their usual dining experience today, having told Bella on Wednesday that they'd be visiting their son in Milwaukee until Monday.

Bella presses down on the pedal attached to the garbage can behind the bar and drops her empty Splenda packets inside. As she stirs in the sweetener and cream, she stares absently at the swirls. Her section has been empty for forty-five minutes, but she doesn't mind. Jessica's section is just as slow, with only an elderly couple towards the very back, so Bella is confident that Jessica's tips won't overshadow hers tonight.

"Bella," Jasper calls, pushing through the swinging doors from the kitchen. She half-heartedly wipes the bar's countertop with a damp dishrag while he walks over, and she's pleasantly surprised when he doesn't tell her to scrub harder to get the margarita-sugar residue off. "I gotta talk to you for a second."

At the kindness in his tone, Bella's heart sinks. Is this where she gets fired?

Jasper sits down at the barstool in front of her and leans back. "I'm sure you heard about Angela by now."

"Uh, just that she's sick, I guess." Bella's eyes flicker to Jessica, who's standing a few feet away, restocking the napkins at Table 15.

"She quit yesterday," Jasper says. "By text."

Bella bites her lip; she's always liked Angela, but at the same time, Angela's lack of professionalism does not surprise her. "So you need me to be the hostess now," Bella says. "Like, permanently."

"No," Jasper says. "Not permanently. Just for a little longer."

"Okay."

"I'm hiring someone new," he says, and Bella feels her sour mood lift a little. "I'm interviewing a few candidates on Monday. Just so you know, it's not forever."

Bella lifts her chin. "Well, thanks. For telling me, I mean." She tries not to notice that he hasn't mentioned anything about letting her take turns waiting on the bigger section with Jessica—baby steps.

Jasper tosses his hair out of his eyes. "I just want you to know that I know you're working hard, and I appreciate it. It's been a shit storm lately—you know, I don't think her parents like me very much."

Bella knows they don't like him—Alice has told her as much—but she keeps her face neutral anyways; it's not her place to tell her boss that he's being selfish in his relationship with her best friend. "Alice really loves you," she tells him instead.

"And I love her," Jasper says, "and I hate that we fight as much as we do." He rolls his shoulders, and just like that, Friend Jasper is gone and Boss Jasper is back. "Dishes are done," he says, jerking his head towards the kitchen. "Help Eric rack them up?"

Bella does as she's told, and after her fourth trip to and from the kitchen with arms full of glass, she leans against the bar for a breather. She's counting the rows, measuring how much space they have on the racks underneath the bottles of liquor, when the bell above the front door rings.

"Welcome," Jasper says right away, and Bella doesn't turn around to play hostess. Whoever it is, if they've already grabbed Jasper's attention, is destined for Table 20. "Table for two?"

Bella reaches out to push a bottle of tequila back a few inches, away from the edge of the shelf.

"I have to say," Jasper says, his voice closer as he walks towards Table 20, "it's a pleasure to see you coming back to dine with us so soon, Mr. Mason."

With a start, Bella spins around, and her ponytail smacks her in the face.

Edward Mason takes his seat at Table 20, the same seat he'd sat in just three days before, the side of the booth that faces the bar. His eyes are on her, and when she meets his gaze, he smiles. "I guess you could say something just called me back."

* * *

**Many of you have expressed an extreme dislike for Jasper, and for good reason. I hope that this chapter gave Jasper a little redemption; Jasper is going to play a very important role in this story as everything continues to unfold. **

**Thanks for reading! Leave a review if you like. **

**See you in Chapter Four.**


	4. Chapter Four

**Hello, again! I know it was a bit longer of a gap between the last chapter and this one, but this is also the longest chapter so far . . . forgiveness?**

* * *

**Artificial Sweetener**

**Chapter Four**

Bella watches, frozen, as Edward unbuttons his jacket and settles into his seat. She sees his lips moving out of the corner of her eye, but his eyes stay locked on hers, almost holding her in place. Her heart is loud in her ears, and she hopes she isn't sweating. Briefly she considers asking Jasper to turn on the air conditioning, but she doesn't want the it's-November-in-Seattle lecture.

When Jessica approaches the table with her notepad in hand, Edward finally looks away from Bella, and she sucks in a few deep breaths while he isn't watching. She takes a few steps to the left, trying to get to a better angle so she can see the man in the other side of the booth, but she's stuck looking at the back of his head. He, too, is wearing a suit.

"Can I take your drink orders?" Jessica asks.

Edward glances over at Bella again, and she feels a blush creep up her neck. "Actually," he says, "I was hoping that Bella would be our waitress."

Jessica takes this news much better than Jasper does, much to Bella's surprise. She turns on her heel and gives Bella a teasing smile as soon as her back is to the guests at Table 20. _Date him_, she mouths.

Bella gulps.

Jasper rests a hand on the edge of the table and addresses only Edward. "Sir, I assure you, Jessica will take very good care of you."

"Oh, I know," Edward says. "As you said before, I was just here on Tuesday, and we did, in fact, have excellent service. I'd just really like to have Bella as my waitress."

"Well—"

"Is that a problem for you?" Edward rests his elbows on the table, staring intently at her boss's face.

Bella can't see Jasper's expression when he speaks, but she knows he's always had a great customer service persona. "Of course not," he says. "She'll be right with you." When he turns, he meets her gaze immediately. _You're up_, he mouths, pointing to the table discreetly with his thumb.

Edward returns his eyes to her, and Bella finds that she can't look away. Blindly feeling for her notepad in the pocket of her apron, she starts walking forward, holding his gaze the whole way. She almost trips on a chair that hasn't been pushed entirely into the table, and the corner of Edward's lips turn up into a crooked, amused smile.

"H-hi," she says, leaning the front of her thighs against the end of the table to keep herself up right. Staring down at Edward's face, she realizes that she hasn't touched up her makeup since that morning and hopes her nose isn't shiny; she's been sweating all day. She stands, unsure of what to say next. Should she introduce herself like she does with any table? He already knows her name.

"Good to see you again, Bella," Edward says softly.

She bites her lip to keep her smile from getting too wide. "And you, as well." She blinks and turns her whole torso so that she's facing the man across from Edward. "Welcome to the Jazz Bar. I'm Bella, I'll be your server tonight. What are we drinking?"

This man is older than Edward, but Bella knows that they're related in some way; they have the same nose, and though Edward's hair is a little more reddish-brown and his counterpart's is a darker brown, they style it in almost the same way. He grins at her. "It's nice to meet you, Bella. I'll have a beer. Whatever you have on tap."

"Corona?"

"That's fine." He holds his hand out for Bella to shake. "I'm Edward Mason _Senior_." He gives Edward a narrowed-eyed stare, as if it's an inside joke.

"Damn right, old man."

"I should call you Junior," his father says.

"I'll put you in a nursing home."

Bella finds herself smiling at their banter; it all makes Edward seem more real, more approachable, more human—less like a towering CEO and more like a man she could, potentially, date. She glances at Edward, catching his eyes wandering down her body. She's grateful that the lamp that hangs above the table is dim; it probably shadows her face, hiding the warm, pink embarrassment on her cheeks. "Scotch on the rocks?" she asks him.

He nods, grinning.

She turns on her heel, and a shiver runs up her spine. She knows without turning around that he's still watching her, and unconsciously she puts a little swing in her walk, a little extra swaying of her hips.

Eric is behind the bar, and he looks up when Bella taps on the counter. "You tending bar today?" she asks.

Eric pretends to look around dramatically, as if Tyler is just hiding from them all. "Whitlock doesn't appear to see the need to hire a chef's assistant _and _a bartender for the same night, so yeah, I guess. What do they want?"

She tells him, forcing herself not to sneak a peek at Edward over her shoulder. She smooths down the front of her apron before even realizing that she's doing it.

Jessica steps up to the cash register to run the elderly couple's card through the system. She glances at Bella and talks through her teeth, like she doesn't want someone to read her lips—Edward must be watching. "Are you flirting with him?" Jessica asks. "_Please_ tell me you're flirting with him."

"Flirting with who?" Eric asks loudly.

"Shut _up_," Jessica hisses.

Bella covers her face with her hands, even though her back is still to Table 20. She looks at Jessica through her fingers. "Did he hear that? Please say no."

Jessica squints over Bella's head and bites her lip. "He's—uh, not paying attention."

"That's a lie."

Jessica nods. "Yeah, that's a lie. He's laughing."

"Kill me."

Eric's head whips back and forth as he tries to keep up with their conversation. "Seriously, who's flirting? You gotta give me something here! Something to get me through the next, like, four hours that I'm stuck here."

"Scotch on the rocks, Eric," Bella says. "Please."

A little bit of beer spills over onto Bella's fingers as she walks unsteadily back to Table 20, but she doesn't drop either glass, so she calls it a win. She stares at her feet until the last possible second, when she has to take their dinner orders. "Now, what are we eating?" she asks.

Edward grins. "Steak. Medium-well. Baked potato?"

"Sour cream and butter?"

"Both, please."

Bella nods and keeps her eyes on the pad. Her cheeks, it seems, are permanently pink tonight, and thinking about how she's already got a date with this man planned in two days makes her arms shake. How can he be so relaxed, when all Bella wants to do is squeal? Perhaps he's not as into her as she thought.

But then again—why is he here?

He must be into her . . . if he's here. He knew she was working tonight.

And yet, his shoulders are low, and his face is relaxed. Bella's body is covered with embarrassment, but Edward doesn't seem affected at all.

When she looks at the other man, he closes his menu and hands it to her. "I'll have the same."

"I'll put that right in for you," Bella says, tucking the menu under her arm. She reaches for Edward's and can't keep herself from raising her eyes to his face.

"Thank you, Bella." Edward's eyes are wide and warm. He doesn't let go of the menu right away, holding Bella still in a way that feels so unbelievably intimate; for a moment, Bella feels like they're holding hands.

A loud shatter echoes around the room: a broken glass. Eric pops up from behind the bar and yells, "Sorry, sorry, my bad."

Edward lets go of the menu, but his face begs her to stay. He licks his bottom lip.

"It shouldn't be too long," Bella says for the hell of it, just for an excuse to stand there a few seconds longer. The rest of the restaurant is empty, now.

In the kitchen, Jessica is sitting on the counter while Mike stands at the stovetop. She's holding a bowl of cut-up strawberries, spooning them into her mouth like she hasn't eaten in days.

"So I told him to go fuck off," Mike is telling her.

Jessica chokes, and Bella thinks it would have been a laugh if her mouth hadn't been full. "You did _not_."

"I did!"

"You really told your grandfather to go fuck himself."

"Did you miss the part about him telling me my career is stupid because I'm not a pediatrician?"

"You told your eighty-four-year-old grandfather to go fuck himself at the Thanksgiving dinner table."

Mike shrugs. "In hindsight, it might have been an overreaction." He glances at Bella. "They order yet?"

She hands him the slip, and he fires up the grill for the steaks. "Did Jasper leave?" she asks him, glancing at the clock; he'll be due for dinner with Alice's parents soon.

But it's Jessica who answers. "Ten minutes ago."

"I didn't see him go."

Jessica smirks. "You were flirting."

"Stop saying that!"

Mike looks up from the steaks. "Who is she flirting with?"

Eric yells from the storage room: "That's what I wanted to know!"

"You're both unbelievable," Bella says.

Jasper appears at the order window and peers into the kitchen, resting his elbows patiently on the counter. "Table 20 needs drink refills," he says, and Bella tries not to notice how his eyes flicker to Jessica when he says it.

Bella can't imagine that they've both downed their drinks that quickly, but she fixes her apron and marches out to the dining room anyways. As the kitchen door swings shut behind her, she looks over to see Edward sitting alone at the table, his body facing forward but his face turned towards her. He smiles when he sees her, and his torso relaxes from his rigid posture.

She glances at both glasses when she reaches the table, and both are only half empty. "I'm sorry," she says, staring down at her feet. "My boss told me you needed more to drink."

"My fault," Edward says softly. "I told him we did. My father is in the bathroom, and I just wanted to—" He must see the question on her face because presses his lips together for a moment. "I think I owe you an apology, Bella."

"For what?"

Edward twists so that he's sitting sideways on the booth, as if he's trying to make this conversation seem less like a customer talking to his waitress. Bella almost glances over her shoulder to see if Jasper is watching, but Edward's eyes—and the warm feeling that bubbles in her stomach when he looks at her—hold her in place.

"I hope that I didn't make you uncomfortable," he says. "Coming here, I mean. Tonight. I hope you don't think that I—that I'm following you, or something." He glances towards the door to the men's restroom. "My father is a shareholder in my company, you see, and he and I meet up from time to time to talk business. This month, it was my turn to pick where we ate, and—" He shrugs apologetically. "I suggested this place without really thinking it through."

"You don't have to apologize," Bella says. "I'm not—"

"I _do _need to, though," Edward insists. "I showed up at your work, and then I requested that you _serve _me." He shakes his head. "We haven't even gone on a real date, yet, and I'm showing up at your place of employment. I just don't want you think that I'm—I don't want you to worry that I'm some kind of—"

"Creepy stalker?" she offers. His face goes pale, and Bella smiles a quick smile to let him know that she was kidding. "Edward, please," she says, "I'm not uncomfortable." She bites her lip, staring into the hopeful affection in his eyes, and doesn't think too long about her next words, less she decide against saying them. "I'm glad that you're here. I'm glad to see you."

A huge smile breaks out on his face now. "I'm very glad to see you, too," he says. "The thought of not seeing you again until Sunday was disappointing, I have to say."

"Me too," she says softly, and the blush that spreads across her cheeks threatens to make a new round of sweat break out onto her forehead.

"So you don't think that I'm some possessive stalker for showing up here?"

"As long as I don't see you at the Dollar General on my way home tonight," Bella teases.

Edward grins and raises his eyebrows teasingly. "Okay, I'll stay at least one aisle away."

It's easy to joke with him, Bella realizes, and more teasing they exchange, the easier it is for Bella to relax her shoulders and slow her heartbeat. They talk for a minute, with Edward leaning forward so that his elbows are on the table and with Bella shifting her weight from foot to foot.

After a pause, Edward tilts his head to the side, staring up at her from his seat. "My memory of you from two whole days ago didn't do you justice," he says. "You're more beautiful than I remember."

Her blush is back, and she looks away. "You're pretty handsome yourself," she whispers, not knowing where her boss is and not willing to turn around to look for him.

"What's your last name?" he asks suddenly.

"Why?" Bella asks, smiling. "You need to stalk me some more?"

Edward narrows his eyes in a teasing glare, and his face brightens again before he answers. "I just want to know you, Bella."

"Swan."

"What?"

"Bella Swan," she says. "That's me."

"Bella Swan," Edward repeats.

"Well, Bella Swan," a voice behind her says, "I hope someday soon we'll have you sitting at the table with us instead of standing next to it."

Bella turns, and Edward's father is approaching, hands stuffed into the pockets of his trousers and a knowing grin on his face. He gives Edward a look that seems to say _I know what you're up to here_.

Bella steps aside so that Edward's father can sit back down. He must think she's permanently pink—she hasn't stopped blushing all night.

Edward reaches forward to touch Bella's hand as his father scooches into the booth. "I hope so, too," he says.

"My wife's gonna be so jealous," Edward Sr. says. "I got to meet you first."

Bella's heartrate quickens again. Has Edward already talked about her to his parents? Was she a part of their Thanksgiving-dinner conversation?

"I'm—um—I'm gonna go check on your dinners," she says quickly. "Do you need anything—refills or, um, whatever?"

When they both decline, she gives Edward one more glance before turning away. They share a smile, and his eyes flicker to her hand again, like he wants to hold it but knows that he really can't while Bella's working.

Bella keeps a steady pace as she walks away, not really wanting to leave Edward but knowing that she _is _still on the clock. A giddy feeling in her stomach makes her want to skip, so she's extra careful to reign herself in.

From behind her, Edward Sr. speaks. "She's just as pretty as you described her, son."

She's not sure if she actually hears this or if it's just wishful thinking in action, but she smiles walking into the kitchen nonetheless.

* * *

**I'm loving writing this story for a lot of reasons. Thank you to everyone for your positive feedback! It swells my heart and inspires me to keep writing these chapters. **

**Edward was very much present in this chapter . . . what did you make of that? Is he being sweet . . . or giving creepy stalker vibes? Or sweet? Or creepy stalker? Or sweet? Or creepy stalker? Or both? Maybe both. That's fair. **

**Please let me know what you thought of this chapter, and as always: **

**See you in Chapter Five. **


	5. Chapter Five

**Artificial Sweetener**

**Chapter Five**

Bella stretches, wiggling her toes against the soft cotton of her bedsheets. She reaches an arm out from under her comforter to snatch her phone off of her nightstand, and the draft from the hallway raises goosebumps on her skin. She nestles her head in the middle of her pillow and squints down at the screen: four waiting messages.

Naturally, three of them are from her mother.

The fourth is from Mr. Edward Mason, CEO.

Bella sits straight up, and a few untamed flyaway hairs tickle her nose. One breast is poking out of the neck of her tank top, but she doesn't bother to fix it. She also doesn't bother to read her mother's messages first; she finds that she's feeling quite out of the ordinary today, and that she likes it.

_Loved seeing you last night,_ Edward has written. _I promise I won't show up tonight . . . unless you ask me to. XO._

Bella's stomach warms. XO? Bella racks her mind, trying to think if those two final letters could be an abbreviation for anything, an acronym of some sort, but nothing comes to mind. Could it be that he really means to send her a hug and a kiss?

_I wouldn't be opposed ;)_, she types back. _One might argue that you owe me a drink. Since you made me wait on you last night and all. _

She stares at the words for a few extra seconds before finally sending them. It's much easier to flirt-tease when he's not right in front of her, staring at her with those patient, bright topaz eyes.

When he doesn't text back right away, Bella opens her mother's messages. Each one asks Bella to call her when she wakes, and each one gets more and more impatient.

She holds the phone up to her ear and brushes her other hand through her hair, untangling a few of the easier knots.

"Guess what!" Renee exclaims instead of a greeting.

Bella rubs her eyes to get rid of the just-woke-up crusties in the corner. "What?"

"We're coming up to visit!"

"You're _what_?" Bella's spine goes ramrod-straight.

"We're coming to visit, Bella!"

"Coming to visit _where_?"

"Seattle, silly!" Renee laughs the most excited laugh Bella has ever heard. "We just decided yesterday, and we booked our flights this morning!"

Despite not having eaten anything since eight o'clock last night, Bella finds her stomach churning. Nausea sends her head back to her pillow. "What are you talking about, Mom?" she asks quietly. "Who's _we_?"

"Me and Phil," Renee says, oblivious to the dread in her daughter's voice. "Oh, Bella, it's absolutely perfect! We were at dinner with the gang last night, and the whole trip just fell into place!"

Bella briefly wonders who _the gang _is, but she doesn't care enough to ask. Her mind is spiraling, her thoughts spinning as she imagines all of the possible scenarios, unfortunate circumstances, and terrible situations that she'll be forced to participate in if Phil Dwyer comes to Seattle. "Mom—"

Renee hasn't stopped for a breath, despite Bella's inability to comprehend the things that she's saying. "We were just talking, chit-chatting about the holiday, upcoming things, you know, and Claire tells us that she's touring colleges—"

"Who's Claire?'

Renee pauses. "Matthew's daughter," she says, but her voice is harder now, more defensive, like Bella has just offended her by not remembering Claire and Matthew and whoever else is in _the gang_. When Bella doesn't answer, her mother adds, "Phil's niece, Bella."

"Okay."

"She was in my wedding, Bella."

"I don't remember her. I'm sorry."

Renee goes quiet, and it takes Bella a minute to realize that her mother is waiting for her to ask questions, but whether she should ask about their supposed trip to Seattle or about Claire, Bella isn't sure. She twists her bedspread in her fingers, holding the phone's receiver away from her ear so that she can take a series of deep breathes that are meant to calm her but don't actually end up making the nausea go away.

Renee gets tired of waiting and launches back into her story. "So anyway, Claire is touring colleges now, and she told us that Matthew can't get off work to go to the west coast with her, and she really wants to see the University of California. I asked her, you know, if she'd thought about Seattle and UDub, and then Phil had the idea."

"The idea for the trip," Bella clarifies.

"Yes!" Renee's sour attitude disappears. "He said, 'Well, why don't we take you?' and she said, 'Oh, I couldn't be a bother like that,' and Phil said, 'It's no trouble at all!' And that's when he looked at me and said, 'Renee, we could visit Bella while we're over there!' and I just thought it was a _perfect _plan!"

Bella wants so badly to burst her mother's bubble by pointing out that the conversation she just paraphrased definitely did _not _happen like that—no high-school senior in the history of high-school seniors has ever said _oh, I couldn't be a bother like that_—but she needs to stay on her mother's good side more now than ever. "When—when are you coming?"

"We fly out in two weeks!"

Bella stands and hurries out to the kitchen, bare feet sticking to the hardwood floors as she walks. She prays, intensely prays, that she's got something down on her calendar, some amazing excuse for why she can't have any visitors then. When she gets there, though, she sees no plans written down, other than her work hours. "I won't be able to take time off of work, Mom," she says.

"Oh, I know that," Renee says. "But you get Sundays and Tuesdays, don't you? We'll be in Seattle for a week and a half, so we'll have almost four whole days together!"

Bella rests her forehead on the counter, and the cool smokey-gray granite makes her realize that she's starting stress-sweating. She lifts her head then, and turns to look at her tiny gray apartment. "Mom, I don't have enough space for four people to live in my apartment for two weeks."

"A week and a half," Renee corrects. "Of course we wouldn't expect you to put us up, Bella. We've already booked a hotel."

"A hotel," Bella says. "And your flights."

"Yes!" Renee exclaims. "I was thinking we should get our nails done. Is there a salon near—"

"And neither of you thought to check with me first."

Renee pauses. "What?"

"Neither of you thought to make sure that those dates work for me?" Bella looks at her wall calendar again. "You actually haven't even told me the dates yet, what day you're coming in and what day you're leaving. And yet, your flights and hotel are booked."

"Bella," Renee starts.

"What if I'm going to be out of town then?" Bella flattens her palm against the counter. "What if I'm busy? What if I have other plans?"

"Well," Renee says. "Do you?"

"Do I _what_?"

"Have other plans, Bella."

Bella swallows. "No," she says, "I don't."

"Then what exactly is the issue here?"

_I don't want to see your husband_. "It's just respect, Mom," she says. "You could have asked me instead of inviting yourselves."

Renee sighs, and the air makes the other end of the receiver fuzzy in Bella's ear for a second. "You know, Bella, I've been so excited the past few hours. Waiting for you to call. Waiting to tell you. I thought you would be excited to see me, too."

"Mom," Bella says. Guilt makes her arms shake. "It's not that I'm not excited to see _you_—"

"Phil is paying for your school now," Renee says. "You might be a little more grateful for that. Talk about having _respect_."

Bella can't believe she's hearing it, that her own mother is playing the money card against her, but at the same time she should have seen it coming.

Renee's voice sharpens as she continues. "He told me he was excited to see the campus. He thinks he should see what his money is buying, and I agree with him."

"So if he doesn't like the school," Bella says, "he'll make me transfer."

"That's not what I said."

"It's what you implied."

"Don't start, Bella."

Bella closes her eyes and wishes for possibly the millionth time in her life that her mother would stop taking Phil's side, stop trying to make him happy, stop going back on every promise that she made Bella as a child, stop ruining their relationship. _You're just like him_, she wants to say. _Holding your money over my head to control me. _

Renee breaks the silence again. "We'll be in Seattle from December 7 through December 17. If you don't want to see us while we're there, then have it your way. But we're coming."

"I have to start getting ready for work now."

"Go ahead, then."

The line goes dead, and Bella sits completely still for a few minutes, wondering when her relationship with her mother had gone so far south that Renee actually hangs up on her own daughter now.

On the counter, her phone beeps with a text.

_Drinks at 9? _Edward has sent.

Bella waits twenty-three minutes before she responds, sitting in the middle of her bed with her shower-damp hair wrapped in a bath towel.

_Meet me the Jazz Bar. _

The Saturday-night dinner crowd keeps Bella busy enough that she can't keep checking the door for Edward's grand appearance. For the first time all week, her section is almost full, and though there aren't any groups waiting to be seated, the flow of entering and existing customers is steady and constant.

Bella keeps her tips in the kangaroo pouch of her apron, grinning each time she sees a five-dollar bill. Her paycheck on Monday, she thinks, will cover her rent for December, so whatever tips she makes today will go towards her textbooks for the spring semester.

She thinks back to the email she received this morning, sent straight from the University of Washington's campus store: Order your textbooks today, get 10% off!

She thinks about how quickly the total cost of her cart had risen as she entered each course number into the little gray box on the university's website, and her stomach pinches a little. She knows it could be worse than $346.09—it could be much, _much _worse than that, actually—but that's still more money than she really has extra, and she's willing to bet that Charlie doesn't have it, either.

The nausea turns to fire as she thinks about having to ask Phil for another $350, especially after the way she left things with Renee this morning.

Bella does her best to wipe her stress of off her face as she hands Mr. Linten his check for the evening. "Have a great evening," she tells the couple sincerely. "We'll see you on Monday, yeah?"

Mrs. Linten leans forward to touch Bella's arm. When Bella's section is busy, Mrs. Linten always hands Bella her tip directly. "Just in case," she says, pressing a ten-dollar bill into Bella's palm. She glances at the tables around her suspiciously. "You know—people these days and their loose morals."

Bella thanks her—ten dollars is more than generous for their twenty-dollar check—and she pretends that she's watching them leave as they head for the door. Really, though, she's using them as an excuse to watch for Edward.

Sometime later, she glances at the clock: 8:41pm, and no sign of Edward. She discreetly checks her phone when she goes behind the bar to tell Tyler to make a martini for Table 6, but the only message is from Alice, asking if their usual Sunday-morning-coffee-and-bookstore trip is still a go for tomorrow.

Bella types back quickly. _Yes to bookstore. ALWAYS yes to bookstore. Just gotta be done by 12. _

Alice answers almost immediately. _Why?_

Bella bites her lip. If she's going to tell her, she may as well do it when she can use the fact that she's at work as an excuse not to spill every single detail. Alice has likely forgotten about Edward Mason entirely, but Bella knows she'll need someone with perhaps a little dating experience to help her get through this lunch date—and any future dates. _Lunch date, _she types back.

**Alice: **_NO WAY OH MY GOD DID YOU ACTUALLY CALL HIM?_

**Bella:** _There is a small chance that this date is, perhaps, maybe, possibly, of the business-card variety, yes. _

**Alice: **_CALL ME WHEN YOU GET HOME FROM WORK_

**Alice: **_Wait, better yet_

**Alice: **_Call me when you LEAVE work_

**Alice: **_Wait, better yet_

**Alice: **_I'll call Jazz and tell him to let you loose early_

Bella hurries to send a response before another message comes in, hopefully before Alice has a chance to find Jasper's name in her contact list.

**Bella: **_No, no, no_

**Bella: **_Don't do that!_

**Bella: **_I have to stay here. We're meeting for drinks_

**Alice: **_Ur having PRE-DATE DRINKS WITH HIM?_

**Bella: **_CALM your ovaries, please. _

**Alice: **_I expect a FULL RECAP _

**Bella: **_No promises!_

The bell above the door jingles again, and Bella's heartrate spikes but quickly declines again; a woman in a set of Winnie the Pooh scrubs walks in instead of Edward.

Bella's cell phone buzzes a few more times as Alice presses for more information, but she slips it back into her pocket and leans against the bar until Tyler finishes up a couple of mixed drinks. Eventually, he hands her the martini she requested, and she takes it over to the young brunette at Table 6.

At 8:58pm, the bell echoes around the almost-empty room. Bella, standing at the cash register as she rings out the check for her final table of the evening, looks up and meets Edward's gaze.

He grins and walks over, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his dress pants. He's a little more casual than the other two times she's seen him—no tie, and the top two buttons of his off-white dress shirt are undone so that his collar neatly tucks against his collar bone. His black dress shoes, however, still click against the floor's tiles when he walks. "Scotch on the rocks," he says as he takes a seat at the leather barstool nearest to Bella.

She feels her eyebrows raise in surprise; she'd hoped they wouldn't be drinking _here_. "Okay, um, let me see if the bartender is still—"

"I'm kidding, Bella." He winks at her.

She bites her bottom lip. "Are you sure? I can get you something."

"Believe it or not," he says, "I can't wait to finally talk to you outside of your place of work."

Bella grins. "I thought you were going to make me wait on you again. Let me get my purse."

Bella speed-walks as quickly as she can without making it painfully obvious that she's speedwalking. She almost knocks Tyler over when she pushes through the kitchen door and scurries over to swipe her time card through the machine on the wall.

Jessica is wiping her hands on a towel by the dishwasher. "Take a breath, Bella," she says.

Bella glances at her over her shoulder, reaching up to untie the apron from around her neck. "What?"

"Your eyes are, like, so wide," Jessica says. She yanks the ponytail out of her hair and runs a hand through it to loosen the tangles. "The Ginger Hottie isn't going anywhere. Just take a breath and calm yourself."

Bella leans against the wall, fingers still picking at the apron's knot. "I haven't done this in so long."

"You say that like you're a forty-five-year-old divorcee."

The knot comes loose, and Bella rips the apron away from her body. She picks her purse off of hanger by the door and puts the apron in its place. "I may as well be," she says.

"You're twenty-one years old," Jessica says. "You should be out getting drunk every night and sleeping with random dudes."

"Maybe if I was a character on a CW series."

"You're hot enough for that." Jessica grins and offers a wink when Bella shoots her a glare. "What? It's true."

"I have to go," Bella says. "You walking out?"

Jessica glances away. "Uh, not yet. I have a few tables to wipe down." She tugs the towel out of her apron's kangaroo pouch and dramatically swing it in a circle.

Bella throws her purse over her shoulder and tries to compose her face. "Okay. Do I look calm now?"

Jessica's eyes run over her face for a second and she walks over to her own purse, hanging where Bella's just was. She digs around in it and tosses a small tube of lipstick in Bella's direction. "Put that on," she says. "And toss your hair a little."

Bella complies. "Good?"

Jessica nods. "Don't forget protection," she teases in a sing-song voice.

Bella rolls her eyes, already backing towards the kitchen exit. "You're not funny."

"I'm serious," she calls, "do you need a condom?"

Bella pushes through the swinging door, and Edward is hovering by the doorway. His hands are tucked into his pockets, and he straightens when he sees her walking towards him.

As she weaves through the tables between them, she opens her mouth to ask why he didn't stay at the bar, but movement to the left catches her eye and Bella knows the answer; Jasper is behind the bar, counting the money in the register for the third time in two hours.

"Ready?" Edward asks, holding the door open and leaning out of the way so that Bella can walk through.

Bella turns to the left when they leave the restaurant, a strategic move; turning to the right would send them to a bar that's closer to her apartment and would therefore give them less time together when they leave later. Edward falls into step next to her, catching Bella's dangling right hand with his left and entwining their fingers.

Bella lifts her eyes to his face and finds him already watching her, gauging her reaction to their hand-holding. Bella wonders if she _should _object—she's heard of no sex on the first date, but did that apply to hand-holding, too? Is _this _their first date, even though they originally planned to go out tomorrow?

"Where are we going?" Bella asks. Their hands swing gently between them.

This seems to throw Edward for a loop, like he hasn't really thought about it, and Bella wonders if he's just as content with being in her presence as she is to be in his. "There's a decent bar on Eighth," he says. "Clean. Not really quiet, but then again, what bar will be on a Saturday?"

"Sounds perfect," Bella says.

They walk in a comfortable silence for a few minutes, shoulders bumping, eyes meeting and drifting away, cheeks turning pink. Every so often, Edward rubs the back of Bella's hand with her thumb, and she wonders again if it's too soon for her to feel butterflies like this when he touches her.

When they're just about to round the corner, Edward speaks. "I'm surprised that you're done working so early," he says. "I mean, nine o'clock on a Saturday is early for a Seattle bar to close. Not that I'm complaining. I'm glad you're here with me."

Bella grins. "The Jazz Bar used to be open until one in the morning." A piece of her hair is tickling her nose, so she tucks it behind her ear. Edward watches her with squinting, gentle eyes. "Jasper is really terrible at hiring new staff, and we lost, like, four servers within a two-month time span last winter. Jessica and I already have to work every Friday and Saturday, but we drew the line at working _all _night."

"And your boss was okay with that?"

"No," she says. "But we threatened to quit, and then he'd _really _be screwed, so he gave in."

Edward laughs. "I'm guessing that was _your _idea. To challenge him, I mean."

Bella nods.

"You're a walking challenge, aren't you, Bella?" he says.

_Not when it comes to you_, Bella thinks. She is momentarily reminded of her earlier conversation with Renee and instinctively pulls her phone out of her pocket, hoping a text from her mother is waiting on the screen.

Her eyes are still on her phone when she hears a man say, "Am I really seeing what I think I'm seeing?"

* * *

**Oops. I do love a cliffhanger. **

**The story starts "climbing the mountain" from here, so to speak. I hope you'll stick around to reach the other side with me.**

**Thank you for reading. Let me know what you're thinking so far. **

**See you in Chapter Six.**


	6. Chapter Six

**Artificial Sweetener**

**Chapter Six**

Edward's hand tightens around Bella's fingers and he pulls her to a stop. Instinctively, Bella looks up at his face, and her stomach drops when she sees that the relaxed expression—one might have even called it an _affectionate _expression—that's been on his face has now been replaced with sudden anger and irritation. She tries not to panic when he takes a half-step forward and places his shoulder in front of hers, almost like he's pushing her out of the way.

A deep laugh draws Bella's attention away from Edward, and instantly she recognizes the man and woman who are staring back at them: the couple that was eating dinner with Edward the night she met him at the Jazz Bar. The man has traded his suit and tie for a beat-up pair of jeans and a dark T-shirt, and his tanned arms are covered in tattoos, some of them so vulgar that Bella feels a blush creep up her neck. The woman's purple dress is short but still classy, still elegant somehow.

The man pushes away from where he was leaning against the wall and drops a cigarette on the ground, and the woman casually shoots her leg out, using the heel of her black pump to snuff it out for him. "Doesn't your intern know how to relay a message?"

Edward rolls a shoulder. "No, no. Lauren is quite organized. I got them all."

"And the documents we sent?" the woman says.

Edward blinks. "Do you mean the horribly desperate and ridiculously unfair edits that you tried to make to our contract? Yes, I got those, too."

"_Desperate_?" she snaps, reaching forward to tap the man's shoulder, as if there's anyway he could have misheard what Edward's just said.

"Unfair for who?" the man echoes. "It's _my _business we're talking about, not yours. I know what I have."

Edward shifts his weight, cutting off Bella's view of this tanned, tattooed, angry man. "You have nothing," he says. Behind his back, where the man can't see, he reaches out a hand to Bella. She slips her fingers into his, and he gives her a quick squeeze in return. He keeps talking, still holding her hand as if to reassure her that he has the situation under control, though Bella isn't so sure. "You have an independent record store that makes a profit during one month and goes into debt in the next. It's inconsistent, and I'm not interested."

"You were pretty damn interested last week," the tattooed man says.

Edward sighs and releases Bella's hand, moving it to rub at his eyes. As he does so, Bella peeks around his arm. The couple has moved forward so that only a few feet separate them from she and Edward, and the others who had been crowding around the bar's entrance are standing stiff and alert, waiting for a fight. Bella feels a flush roll over her body as she realizes that this could come to blows. Will Edward back down before fists start swinging? Is this dispute big enough to be the kind of guns-a-blazing, business-deal-gone-wrong story that she sees on the eleven o'clock news?

Edward clears his throat. "Sam. I thought we settled this at dinner. I thought you understood what my offer is."

Bella fiddles with the hem of her T-shirt, happy to finally have a name to match with the face.

"We're _negotiating_," Sam answers.

Edward shakes his head. "That's what I'm saying, Sam. I thought you understood that my offer is non-negotiable. All or nothing, how many times do I have to say it?"

"You skip out on this deal," Sam threatens, "and you can kiss your front-and-center shelf space goodbye."

"You realize that I'm a music producer," Edward says. "I don't need indie record stores to sell music for me. I have Amazon. Walmart. Best Buy. Spotify, iHeartRadio, Pandora, iTunes. I can get a CD on the shelves at fucking JC Penny if I want."

"You—"

"I'm still talking," Edward spits. "I don't want your _business_. I want your _building_. So either you sell me the whole store, one-hundred percent, or you get the fuck out of my voicemail box every goddamn day. I've told you that I'm not interested in _investing _in an indie record store. If you want my money—"

"Bullshit," Sam spits.

Edward waits to make sure Sam isn't going to interrupt again. "If you want my money, you'll sell me the whole business. One-hundred percent."

The woman crosses her arms. "Thirty percent, and you're a shareholder."

Edward crosses his arms, too, and Bella wonders if he's doing it subconsciously or if he's trying to make fun of her dramatics. "One hundred percent of the business or none at all," he repeats. "I'm an _entrepreneur_, Emily. I'm not an investor."

"Since _when_?" Sam bellows.

Emily tilts her chin up, staring straight at Edward's face, arms still crossed over her chest. "Relax, Sam," she says. "Edward's forgetting what _other _information we have on him."

Bella watches Edward's shoulders tense as he flexes his fingers at his sides. "What _other _information?"

Emily smirks. "I think you know. Something you'd rather . . . keep quiet." Bella can't be absolutely sure, but she's almost positive that Emily's eyes flicker in her direction for a brief moment.

"I don't take kindly to threats, Emily," Edward says softly. "Perhaps you'll be hearing from my lawyer."

After a few minutes of walking, and a few seconds of awkward hand-brushing as they wait for the crosswalk signs to let them through the heavy New-York-City traffic, Bella and Edward finally duck into a random building, both eager to fill the silence between them with a menu discussion and a, for Bella, a martini.

Edward holds the door open for Bella as they enter, and the hostess turns at the sound of the jingling bell above them. She grins at Bella and then quickly settles her gaze on Edward, blinking too much and showing way too many teeth.

For a split second, the nerves in her stomach tell Bella to flee.

_You can have him_, she imagines herself yelling to this girl as she runs back out the door. _He's surrounded by giant tattooed men who want his money. _

She glances up at Edward's face to find him completely ignoring the hostess, though, even when she asks him how many menus he'll need this evening.

"Just two, please," Bella answers for him, feeling a familiar warmth settle in her stomach as he looks at her. She makes her decision then. "It's our first date."

The hostess's shoulders fall, but she leads them to a quiet booth in the back of the restaurant anyways.

Edward takes the seat that faces the door and presses his back against the booth cushion. "I thought tomorrow was meant to be our first date," he says, raising his eyebrows.

Bella shrugs. "We keep saying we're not going on dates, but really we've been on, like, ten dates. We may as well just get the first one over with."

"_Over_ with?" Edward frowns. "Not exactly the enthusiasm I like to hear from a woman I'm supposedly going on ten first dates with."

"Ten was a hyperbole." She grins, watching him fidget his hands and roll his shoulders nervously. "And I just meant that the term 'first date' has so much _stress _behind it, and this doesn't even feel like a first date anymore."

"What number date does it feel like?"

"Three."

"I would have said four," Edward says.

Instead of being grateful that Edward is playing along with her terrible flirting game, though, Bella's mouth speaks without her brain's permission: "Date number four is the sex date."

Edward's mouth twitches as he holds back a laugh, and Bella leans forward to rest her forehead in her hands.

The waitress saves her, much to Bella's relief. They order drinks and an appetizer because Bella never gets to eat dinner during a dinner work shift, but as soon as the waitress leaves again, the silence settles back in.

They let their eyes wander around the room awkwardly, and Bella wonders if perhaps Edward is hoping she won't ask, won't even mention the Sam-Emily-sidewalk incident.

But then, to Bella's surprise, Edward speaks: "Sam and Emily Uley don't have a lot of money. But they certainly have a lot of loyal . . . clients."

Bella tilts her head. "I don't follow you."

Edward bites his lip. "Think 'Italian mafia,'" he says. "But, like, modernized."

"The mafia with iPhones?"

Edward grins. "I'm glad you're making jokes. I was worried there for a minute."

"What do you mean?"

"I figured you'd get spooked or something." He shrugs. "I thought I'd turn around and you'd be gone."

"I don't scare that easy," she says, but deep down she knows the pit in her stomach is leftover fear from that sidewalk encounter. Then she remembers something that Emily said, and her mouth strikes again: "What did that woman mean?"

Edward stares at her, and Bella bites down on the inside of her cheek as she rethinks her very vague question.

"I mean," she adds, "the part about . . . you know, them knowing a secret about you."

Edward leans forward to rest his elbows on the table. "I'll tell you sometime," he says. "I promise. If you stick around, I'll tell you."

"You're being very cryptic," Bella says. "This might be our hundredth date, but you're still mostly a stranger to me. Secrecy isn't the best way to keep me close, Mr. Mason, CEO."

Edward's eyes squint with his smile. "I don't want to be a stranger to you anymore, Bella," he says, "but there's a lot to learn about me. If you're willing to take the time to learn it all."

Bella bites her lip. "Can I ask questions, though? During the getting-to-know-you part?"

"Of course."

The waitress pops back, sitting their glasses down so roughly that the ice jingles. "A few more minutes on the appetizer," she says, already walking away.

Edward locks his fingers together and rests his chin on his hands, waiting. His posture is patient, but his hands aren't; he's nervous, Bella realizes, that she'll just get up and leave right now.

Bella picks up her martini and bites the olive off of the toothpick. Staring at Edward over the rim of her drink, she takes a small sip. "Okay," she says. "First question. What made you notice me?"

* * *

**Hello, everyone! I've been gone for quite a while; the weeks have not been kind to me, free-time wise. I was working ahead to plan for vacation, and then I went on vacation, and then I had to catch up from being on vacation.**

**I know this chapter is a little shorter than I usually post, but I really just wanted to get something up here for you guys.**

**Coming up in future chapters: Edward and Bella get to know each other, Edward's family enters, and Renee and Phil take a trip to Seattle.**

**As always, leave me a review if you'd like. **

**See you in Chapter Seven!**


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